


The Education of Marya Bolkonskaya

by earsXfeet6669



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, but some discussions of sex, not a lot of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earsXfeet6669/pseuds/earsXfeet6669
Summary: After Marya catches Hélène and Dolokhov together, Hélène must convince Marya to think nothing of it or risk loosing her marriage.
Relationships: Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Elena "Hélène" Vasilyevna Kuragina
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	The Education of Marya Bolkonskaya

The grand dining room of the Bolkonsky’s Bald Hills estate was in use, although it was nowhere near meal time. No, no one was consuming anything, but Hélène and Dolokhov were consumed with lust, and had for some reason decided that in this grand mansion with enough bedroom’s to comfortably sleep Dolokhov’s entire regiment, the dining room was the wisest place to make love. 

And so, on top of the fully set table, they did just that. Foolish as this decision may have been, Hélène and Dolokhov were far too enraptured by each other to think of the consequences. Hélène chirped in pleasure as Dolokhov pressed his weird w shaped mouth against her own normal shaped one. She liked his tongue far more when it slid against her own, then when it was spouting vulgarities, although truthfully that amused her more than she let on.

Hélène pulled away from their kiss, and locked orbs with Marya Bolkonskaya, who stood there frozen, having entered only a few moments before. “Oh fuck!” Hélène exclaimed, although clearly not in pleasure. 

“What? Did you get a fork in your ass?” asked Dolokhov with only half-hearted concern. 

“No! Get off me, you brute!” Hélène shrieked, a sudden sorrow in her voice. 

“Oh, roleplay?” Dolokhov smirked, “Hot.” 

“ _ No _ .  _ Get off me, you brute,”  _ said Hélène with a very deliberate passive aggression. 

Dolokhov reluctantly obliged, and removed himself from Hélène, spotting Marya as he turned to do so. He gave her a nonchalant “Sup,” clearly not realizing the potential gravity of her intrusion. 

Hélène quickly covered herself with a table cloth, then ran over to Marya, “Oh, thank goodness you’re here, Marie!” Hélène almost collapsed into Marya’s arms, “You must get me away from this horrible man!” 

“Well, goodbye to you too, whore!” Dolokhov called after Hélène with a fake hurt in his voice, as Marya ushered her down the hallway into a spare bedroom, that Hélène was surprised to learn was there. Hélène sunk down onto the bed, which she thought was remarkably comfortable, especially compared to the table she had just spent hours on. Marya remained standing, seeming to tower above Hélène.

“I thought that Monsieur Dolokhov was your friend.”

“I thought he was my friend as well.” Hélène said meekly, hoping an act of innocence would appease Marya. She had never been sure how best to describe her relationship with Dolokhov, but she had always known ‘friend’ would never be the right word. Dolokhov was Anatole’s friend, but he was her...she did not know. 

“How could you…” Marya seemed at a loss for words, “kiss him when you are already married to my brother?” 

“I love Andrei dearly. I wouldn’t want any other man as my husband,” Hélène confessed, trying to put as much love into her voice as she could muster, while quietly starting to wish her father had gone along with his plan to marry her off to Pierre Bezukhov. Pierre Bezukhov was a bastard with no close ties to any of his family. Having no busybody relatives to walk in on her at such intimate moments would have been a real luxury, but no, only Anatole was afforded such luxury. 

“I had no reason to doubt your love, until...” Marya could not bear to say it, partially because she was still unsure what exactly “it” was. 

“Oh Marie, you mustn't tell him! I can’t function when he’s cross with me!” 

“Then that is your cross to bear for wronging him. Did you wrong him?”

Hélène could tell that Marya was genuinely unsure, and paused to consider her next move. She, of course, did not want Marya to think her little infidelity was a big deal, but she also knew that if she told Marya it was not a big deal, Marya would have no reason not to tell Andrei. Hélène quickly plastered an offended look on her face, and said “Of course I would never wrong him, but you know how he can be. I wouldn’t want anyone to give him the impression I had. You mustn't tell him, he simply would not understand.”

“Would not understand what? My brother is a very intelligent man.”

“He’s the brightest man in all of Russia, but you know how he is with feelings,” he was even worse at expressing them genuinely than her father was, a man who had once listen to Ippolit recite incorrect whale facts his boyfriend had told him with a smile for nearly half an hour so as not appear unkind in front of the czar (who was all the way on the other side of the room), thought Hélène. “Andrei could never understand how Dolokhov manipulated me. Oh, I’m a weak, foolish woman for trusting him,” Hélène hardly trusted Dolokhov. She figured he was probably rifling through her pockets at this precise moment in search of a few roubles. Hélène paused to imagine how great his ass probably looked while he was bent over to do so. “He was just so kind to me,” Hélène couldn’t help but think that was likely the first and only time anyone would ever refer to Dolokhov as kind, “but now I know he only wanted one thing from me.” 

“And what was that?” Marya asked. 

“Don’t make me say it, Marie!” Hélène melodramatically brought a hand to her forehead, pretending to feel faint, “It is too shameful!” 

“Why are you ashamed? I don’t understand.”

“You’re surprisingly progressive for someone so religious. I’m surprised you don’t think I’m a sinner.” 

“So, this-,” Marya paused to find the right words, “thing that Monsieur Dolokhov made you do is a sin?” 

Hélène was taken aback. “Marie, do you not know what we were doing?”

Marya did not know what they were doing. No one had ever bothered to explain such things to her, although this was not the first time she had witnessed such acts. She had once caught Hélène’s father and her own in a similar state, but had thought nothing of it, and quickly left the room. Marya felt as foolish as she did when her father attempted to teach her geometry, and that same feeling of shame creeped onto her face. 

Hélène clocked this expression immediately. “You do not, do you?” Hélène asked, baffled. Marya shook her head no. “Marya, where do you think infants come from?”

“God.” 

Hélène began to pity the poor girl. Hélène could not imagine the life Marya must have lived, having been denied the pleasures of life, only been given a silly book to keep her company instead. “Oh sweet Marie, God is not real. It is a man who gives a woman a child.” 

“God is a man,” Marya said, meekly. 

“Man is not a god. Trust me. I’ve known several.” Marya was not sure what Hélène meant when she said ‘known’, but did not like the way she said it. “But I suppose Dolokhov is closer to a God than most in that department.”

“I’ve known men,” Marya said, defensively. 

“But not in the way they are meant to be known.” Hélène said with a smirk 

“How are men meant to be known?” 

“Like this!” Hélène leaned in and gave Marya a smooch. It was the first smooch Marya had ever had, and it would be the best smooch she ever had (because she would eventually go on to marry a gay man). 

  
  



End file.
